


Seal it With a Kiss

by EnRaa



Category: Transformers: War for Cybertron Trilogy (Cartoon)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnRaa/pseuds/EnRaa
Summary: “Ah, ah, ah!” Ratchet chastises as he kneels down and settles himself between Impactor's thighs, servos sliding over the nicked and dented metal slowly as he inches his way up towards the 'Con's modesty panel. Impactor grunts as he settles back into the seat and Ratchet smirks up at him. "Good Mech... I worked hard to get you back in one piece, so don't go ruining my work.”
Relationships: Impactor/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	Seal it With a Kiss

“Ah, ah, ah!” Ratchet chastises as he kneels down and settles himself between Impactor's thighs, servos sliding over the nicked and dented metal slowly as he inches his way up towards the 'Con's modesty panel. Impactor grunts as he settles back into the seat and Ratchet smirks up at him. “Good mech. I worked hard to get you back in one piece, so don't go ruining my work.”

Impactor scoffs and makes it a point to look anywhere other than Ratchet's optics. “Surely you're not going to tell me that you don't want me to _do_ anything!” He growls at the medic, and Ratchet rolls his optics at the mech's naivete.

“Of course not,” Ratchet says as he leans up to press his lip plates to Impactor's spike cover, pressing a soft kiss to the metal. “I want you to lean back and enjoy what I intend to do to you...” He presses his glossa to the cover and drags it over the heated metal slowly, and almost immediately the cover spirals open and Impactor's spike is pressurizing with a hiss. He has his intake on it immediately when it's fully pressurized, laving up the side of the ridged cord and over the pointed tip.

The 'Con gasps sharply and his hips stutter up into the sensations, and Ratchet licks his lip plates as he watches his patient. Impactor finally meets his gaze and his venting skips a bit as he watches Ratchet swallow his spike down to the hilt. “Surprised you can do that, Doc,” He grit out, optics dimming as he took in the sight between his legs. “You don't seem like the type.”

Ratchet hums thoughtfully, and the vibrations make Impactor groan and spread his thighs wider. He pulls off the spike with a slick noise, and he grins at the way the 'Con growls at the loss of contact. Ratchet brings his servo up to pump over the rigid cord. “The type to what? Interface?” He asks, swiping a digit over the tip to spread the prefluid gathering there. “I certainly wasn't shareware, but I've certainly had a few romps in my time.”

Impactor tips his helm back, sighing blissfully as Ratchet takes the tip of his cord into his intake and sucks. “Some lucky mechs...” He pants, and he lets a servo drop down to Ratchet's helm, stroking over his chevron with gentle touches that had Ratchet groaning around his spike. “Frag, that feels good...” Impactor moans, and he toys with the chevron a little more, pinching and tracing the ridges to see what reactions he can coax out of his medic.

Letting the tip pop out of his intake, Ratchet laves up the side of the 'Con's spike, mostly just to tease the mech, before taking him to the hilt again. He delights in the choked off moan Impactor can't stifle in time. Impactor's touches to his chevron make him shudder and moan, and he slips his free servo between his legs. His panel snaps back immediately and he sinks two digits into his valve.

When Impactor gazes back down at him, Ratchet knows he must be quite the sight with his servo buried between his thighs as he moans and purrs around a spike in his throat tubing, and judging from the way Impactor gasps and his servo grips hard to Ratchet's chevron, he definitely would agree.

Ratchet pulls off his spike, taking a few steady vents before grinning up at the 'Con. “Use that servo of yours to set the pace,” He says, and he adds a third finger on the next thrust into his valve, delighting in the slight stretch. “Make this good and interesting...” He purrs, and when Impactor gives him a wary look, he rolls his optics. “You're not going to hurt me, Impactor. I'll let you know if I get uncomfortable.”

“You'd better,” Impactor grumbles, and Ratchet swallows him down again and gives him and expectant look. Gripping the chevron a little tighter, Impactor begins guiding Ratchet over his spike, a slow and deep pace that Ratchet finds to be a very considerate movement as he adjusts. The 'Con gasps when he sucks over the hot metal as it's thrust in and out of his intake, and it doesn't take long for Impactor to start picking up the pace.

The dual sensations of being filled in his intake and in his valve are divine, in Ratchet's opinion, and the pleasure races through his circuits like a fire and has him reaching his end far too soon for his liking. With a moan choked off by the spike in his throat tubing, Ratchet shudders as he overloads. He can feel lubricant dribble out over his digits and down over his servo, and he gently removes his servo so he can prop himself up on Impactor's thigh, though he's careful not to smear lubricant on the mech's plating.

Impactor only lasts a few more thrusts before he's hilting himself in Ratchet's throat tubing and overloading hard, and Ratchet eagerly swallows it down with a soft moan. The popping and hissing of cooling metal fill the air between them as they come down from their pleasure, and Ratchet pulls off of Impactor's spike as it begins to depressurize.

“Frag,” Impactor groans tiredly as he lets his plating loosen and relax against his frame. “That was hot.” He drops his servo from Ratchet's chevron to his face, nudging his chin up and running his thumb over Ratchet's lip plates as he takes in the sight of him. “You're gorgeous...” He murmurs softly, and Ratchet rolls his optics.

“I'm sure you say that to all the bots.” He teases, but he leans his helm against Impactor's thigh and vents. “Thank you.” He says with a smile, and Impactor returns it in his rugged, pit-mech way that's crooked and handsome and just entirely Impactor. “C'mon, you need to rest, and I have a few tasks I have to do before lights out.” Ratchet says as he straightens up, but before he can get to his feet, Impactor leans down and pulls him into a kiss that's soft and has Ratchet smiling into it immediately.

The 'Con grazes his glossa along Ratchet's lip plating and Ratchet opens for him eagerly, and he presses up for a better angle as they explore each other leisurely. It's sluggish and not the usual heated, passionate mess he's experienced countless other times, but instead just...nice sensation.

When they part, Impactor's vents are heavy with exhaustion, and Ratchet chuckles and he stands and presses another chaste kiss to the mech's lips. “As much as I'd love to lye here all day kissing you, I have some work I need to get done.” Ratchet murmurs, and Impactor shifts to lean back a bit on the slab with a grunt of agreement.

“You should recharge here.” He suggests, and Ratchet nods.

“I like the sound of that. I'll be finished up in a few cycles.” He says and presses one last kiss to Impactor's cheek plating, and the mech grins tiredly.

“Deal.” Impactor says, and as Ratchet turns to collect the data pads he'd left on the cart next to the recharge slab, the 'Con gave him a playful swat to the aft that earned him a surprised yelp. “I'll be waiting!” He promises jovially.

“Keep that up and you'll be waiting a long, long time!” Ratchet grumbles, though it held no real threat or anger, and judging by Impactor's cackle as he left the room, the mech was well aware he was going to get away with his antics.

As he makes his way to the med bay, he decides the next few cycles might be best spent plotting punishment for said antics.


End file.
